A Mile In His Converse
by ThisIsTrueImmortality
Summary: "Don't judge a man until you've walked a mile in his Converse." A startling reality check for those who think they have a certain hero all figured out, when actually, they know nothing about him at all. Join them in the discovery of what it means to be a savior, to be a loner...To be The Doctor.


**Author's Note: Well, folks, here's my first ever Doctor Who fanfiction! I know I say this a lot, but I think it's really true this time: I have passed beyond all hope into the realms of Total Geekdom. Good thing I've got weapons-here there be monsters.**

**Just a short oneshot that occurred to me while watching, you guessed it, Doctor Who. Wait-what's that, you say? I should be writing Avatar fanfiction instead? No, no, don't be ridiculous. I do what I want. **

**The song for this fic is "What If I Told You" by Jason Walker watch?v=NNbG1tlaLSA (Basically, this song IS The Doctor.) If you prefer something more metal, have some Dead Poetic with their song "Glass in the Trees" watch?v=G6tWtUz0zGs **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

_Don't judge a being until you've walked a mile in his Converse. _

* * *

The air was thick like wool padding, carrying with it the smell of discharged ammunition and destroyed architecture. A building further collapsed nearby, sending a flurry of ash and dust into the sky. Beings were screaming, filling the remaining atmosphere with sounds of terror from all directions, strident and nonsensical. Overhead, machines of war swooped through the sky. As the town's inhabitants ran through their streets in panic, the strangely-shaped craft made a turn for another run.

He felt the planet moving under his feet. At the same time, he felt myriad threads of time, thin as gossamer, running in spirals and loops and webs, but never in straight lines. The fragle lives around him appeared for a moment in his mind as flashes of light, and as he watched, seventy lights flickered out. His hearts beat double time-quadruple time. His eyes couldn't cut through the fog of war, but his ears could hear every shivering note of the townspeople's fright and every decibel of the war machines' relentless advance. His hand were slick with sweat and his veins hummed with adrenaline. His humble Earth-manufactured trainers slid against the glass-ridden ground as he sprinted through the debris.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus, temporarily banishing the lights and the webs and the ceaseless sense of centripetal force. He tugged on his coat and licked his lips, looking around desperately for his companions. There was no sign of them in the mass of fleeing bodies. He nearly tripped over a dead Oo Loo, staring at its bloodied face, and suddenly the shimmering strands of time snapped back into his vision, covering the dead body and shooting away from its still form with startling speed. He blinked the threads away and shook his head.

While he was still preoccupied with the dead Oo Loo, his ears picked up the sound of a tiny voice screaming for its mother. He looked up and saw a child running across the street, her shoes in tatters and her feet leaving bloody footprints in the dust. The child's eyes were wide and her arms were outstretched as though asking for a hug from a parent. As he watched, a war machine approached, the green lights on its belly flashing in the sequence which translated to "prepare to fire".

His reflexes reacted faster than his mind.

The white Converse shoes carried him to the child and his arms snatched her out of the path of destruction just as the machine released thick bolts of green energy into the street, obliterating the Oo Loo's body and everything around it, including the area where the child had been standing. He didn't stop-he kept running, clutching the tiny person in his arms. Without his permission, his mouth started spewing words: "It's okay, S'okay, the Doctor's here, the Doctor will help you, don't worry-"

The little girl buried her face in his chest and cried, her miniature fists clenched around his lapels as though she would never be separated from him. "Don't drop me," she sobbed, "don't drop me!"

"I won't," he promised, his mouth dry, "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

"My feet hurt," the child said, then screamed again as another barrage of bullets exploded the wreckage around them. He curved his shoulders to protect the little girl from the particles that were flung into the air. "Don't drop me!" the child cried.

"S'all right, love," he said, "we'll get out of here soon." He turned his attention to several New Kardians huddled beneath a piece of transport. "Run!" he shouted at them. "They'll be back soon! They need about two minutes to re-power! Come on!"

He ran into what remained of the town square and looked around frantically, searching for the door he had been told to find should the war machines strike. The little girl trembled in his arms, repeating disjointed words as her body shook against his ribs. Someone yelled, "Doctor! Help me!" And he located the source of the voice only to watch the lifeform die as its blood trickled into the street.

"Doctor!" Another voice said, and he turned to see a frail Oo Loo scramble to his side, its orange face pale with fear. "I've l-lost communication w-with the m-militia," the Oo Loo stammered, wiping its face with a webbed hand. "We-we-re on our own, Doctor! Wh-what do we d-do, Doctor? What do we do?"

His mind churned, and before he could stop it he saw once again the maps of time and space all around, adding to the chaos. His hands involuntarily pulled the child in his arms closer as he tried not to look at the threads dancing all around her. "Look for a door with a yellow triangle on it!" he said, suprised at the steadiness of his voice.

The Oo Loo seemed to shrink. "Wh-what's a triangle?"

Another townsman pointed up. "Look out!"

The war machines had regained enough extra power to make another strafing run. "Hurry, Doctor!" A sturdy male humanoid said, helping several other townspeople over an obstacle in their path. "The ground isn't even going to hold out much longer, at this rate!"

"I need to find a door with a yellow triangle on it!" He shouted back.

"The bad things are coming," the little girl mumbled from his collar. "The bad machines are coming-they're going to hurt us-"

He hid the girl's face in his lapel as a fleeing woman got crushed by a falling support beam. The sturdy male humanoid picked up two of his comrades and ran to shelter under a parked atmosphere glider. "Whatever it is you're going to do, Doctor," he yelled, "for the gods' sakes, get to it!"

"They're c-coming!" The Oo Loo next to him wailed, flapping his hands in panic. "We're g-going to be flattened! Doctor-Doctor-save us!"

He felt trapped, helpless, and resentful all at the same time. Why was everyone shouting at him? This wasn't his planet. He'd never even seen it before yesterday. This wasn't his rebellion. He hadn't started a war with the militant government here. He didn't have to save anyone.

"Mister Doctor," the little girl sobbed, "Mister Doctor, don't let them hurt me!"

"WHERE IS THAT DOOR?" He screamed, looking all around at the warped metal structures of decimated buildings. The dusty air grew thicker as the machines approached. The little girl was screaming in his ear, blocking out sound on one side. The Oo Loo abandoned him, crawling toward the parked glider at top speed. "No!" He said. "Come back! We have to find the door, it's the only safe place!" The burly humanoid shook his head and turned his back on the two people still standing in the street, his eyes carrying no hint of regret.

Against his better judgment, he closed his eyes and hoped for the best. And then, as his lids lifted, his eyes began to take in every detail around him: the lights of lifeforms, the threads of time, the whorls of spatial disturbances...and the outlines of every physical object in the vicinity, including the one piece of structure still standing.

"There!" He said, triumphant, and took off. Bolts of green energy followed him, sometimes missing him by centimeters. One bullet scorched his calf, leaving a simmering burn in its wake. The little girl had fallen silent against his chest, but her hands had not released their deathgrip. Just as he started to pant from exertion, the door rose up before him, the small yellow triangle on its face barely visible due to the beating it had taken from enemy fire.

He didn't slow down. He burst through the door and fell into an open space. He didn't have time to gasp before he hit the floor, landing on his back with his hands cradling the child to his body. It took him a moment to realize that he was not alone, and he instinctively backed away on his knees, keeping his back to the possible threats to shield his tiny charge. "I've got a child!" He said loudly, hoping that would deter any attackers. "I've got a child with me!"

"Oh, thank goodness," sighed a familiar voice, "you're all right. Jiminy Cricket, you gave me palpitations, getting lost like that!"

He nearly fainted from relief. The voice was a Southeast London accent, rough and at odds with the fussy words it produced. "You're here," he said. "You made it through."

He turned and sank slowly back until he rested against the wall of the safehouse, trying not to hear the sounds of the war machines outside as they finished their grisly work. His breath came out in sharp bursts and his hands finally shook. The little girl risked a glance at his face and seemed to sense his impending breakdown. She took his face between her short, chubby hands. "Mister Doctor," she said, sniffling, "are we safe, now?"

"Here we are," that familiar London accent spoke again, and an adult hand moved into his line of sight, holding a blanket. "Come here, sweetheart, give Mickey-boy some room." The body of Micky Smith knelt before the child and smiled, his eyes far too ancient for his face. He was accompanied by another friendly sight: Rose Tyler in all her hoodie-and-bleached-blonde glory, giving the two newcomers a tender look. "He's had a long day, our Mickey," the man with the so-familiar voice continued, "and although you are quite sweet, I think perhaps he needs a moment."

With hardly a protest, the little girl was taken gently from his arms and transferred to Rose's keeping. He watched her timelines travel with her as she left his lap, shaking his head in an effort to break the connection to all of time-to everything-to the universe-to the stars-to heartbeats, to lifeforms, to pain, to sudden death, to centuries decades minutes hours dates times time-

"Mickey." A hand landed on his shoulder and another guided his face up to meet a serious gaze in the face of a black boy from London who had never done anything more important with his life than asking Rose Tyler to get a coffee with him. "All right, my lad?" The London accent said.

His own face was moving its mouth at him. His own voice was speaking to him. His own hands were holding him firmly but so gently, as if he would bruise with the slightest amount of force. He stared into his own face and felt his throat tighten in gratefulness as the spools of time threads vanished when his borrowed eyes focused on his own. His double hearts slowed and his chest stopped heaving. An emotion he had never felt for this man before him rose in his soul, as unstoppable as time itself.

"Doctor," he whispered, eyes wide.

Mickey Smith's body grinned, but the eyes of The Doctor lit up in Mickey's face. "You're going to be fine, Mickey," The Doctor said, pulling him to stand up once more. "Don't worry. I'm going to fix this."

For the first time ever, Mickey Smith truly appreciated the meaning of The Doctor's words.


End file.
